Live To Tell The Tale
by LavenderGale
Summary: My version of Haymitch Abernathy's experiences in the quarter quell and his alliance with a girl from his district. Macie Mae Cabot


Why am I writing this?

I've been asking myself this question over and over again and I still don't know the answer.

I've never wanted to talk about the games, let alone write about them. So how I got myself roped into writing this I sure as hell don't know.

You've probably heard the expression "Live to tell the tale".

Well I lived so here's my story.

I should probably warn you, I'm not much of a writer.

I'm not really much of an anything if you want to be brutally honest.

But there is one thing I'm good at and that puts me at an advantage over most folks.

My name is Haymitch Abernathy and I am a survivor.

I remember the day of the reaping. All the usual B.S. (Can I even write that? Well guess I'll find out.)

A bunch of puffed up idiots trying to pretend they wanted to be some where they didn't trying to entertain the people of a district who knew damn well what was coming and it wasn't worth celebrating.

That about sums up the reaping: A reverse lottery. One that no one wants to win.

"Ladies first!"

I roll my eyes as the lady from the capitol trills her usual sappy lines. She looks like some ridiculous cake decoration in all her fancy clothes and make up. I wonder what she really looks like under it all. I wonder is even she can remember.

The sun is making the wool collar of my donated suit a torture device. I scratch the back of my neck and hope they won't think I'm volunteering for tribute. I smile at the idea.

"Macey-Mae Cabot!"

My head snaps up. I'd almost forgotten where I was. My eyes scan the crowd and I see her.

She's from one of those merchant families, the kind that don't hang around with people from the seam, people like me. Her wheat colored hair is arranged in an intricate braid and her linen dress rustles as she stalks toward the stage.

I shake my head and look away. Then the screaming starts.

I look over and there is a little girl, she looks like she hasn't even reached reaping age yet. She has the same mousy hair and pale features as Macey-Mae and there is no doubt she is her sister.

The girl runs shrieking after her sister and her parents run and carry her away before the peace keepers can. The peace keepers would not have been so gentle.

I turn my eyes to Macey-Mae. She hasn't moved. She stares ahead hard and unblinking. It isn't until she turns in my direction I see the tears. Her eyes are dark, angry. The look on her face says it all:

"I will make you pay."

I like this girl.

I pity the poor person that has to fight her.

Now, it's the men's turn.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

I smile bitterly as I approach the stage.

Just my luck.

The leaving wasn't hard for me.

No one cared about me and whoever I'd cared about was gone.

All I felt was a numb sense of resolution. So this was how it was going to be. Fine.

Then I saw them. Macey-Mae and her sister in each other's arms.

Macey –Mae stoic as ever holding her sister as she sobbed into her chest. I just barely heard her whisper:

"I'll be back, I promise. I have to go, but I'll be back. Every things going to be all right, sweet heart."

It was the "Sweet Heart" that got me. So she had a heart after all.

Slowly it washes over me. We all have hearts. Hearts and lives we want to keep.

I feel anger rising deep within me. It is the first thing I have felt in a long time and I embrace it.

I hate the Capitol.

I hate The Games.

But most of all I hate the fact that I may have to kill Macey-Mae Cabot.

I look over and her eyes meet mine. They are hard and dark.

I will make them pay.

Training.

There is something wrong with teaching a group of people to kill. Whether for war, for sport or for protection.

The fact that it is each other they are being trained to kill makes it that much more twisted.

The fact their children makes it just plain evil.

For me, fighting has always been easy. I have never been overly large or strong. But I'm tough, stubborn. Once I'm involved in something I don't back down until it's done.

Fear was never an option for me. In order to be afraid you have to have something you're afraid to lose.

I literally had nothing to lose. That's what made me so lethal.

I catch on quickly to the various styles of fighting we are taught. My weapon of choice has always been a knife. In a skilled hand it's quick, it's precise and it's personal.

To kill with a knife you have to get close. You have to look your victim right in the eye. It only seems fair.

Macey-Mae doesn't take to things quite as quickly as I do.

She is not from my world. Her hands aren't built for cutting the throats of snared rabbits or fighting for food. She was tough in her own way, but the games were tougher.

One day, I am in the training room trying unsuccessfully to learn how to tie knots. It is the only station open and coincidentally the thing I am worst at. I am in the process of teaching some of the younger tributes words they hopefully have never heard before, when I hear someone scream.

This is not an unusual occurrence. Screams were common in the training room. Screams of frustration, pain and anger rang out at regular intervals. But this scream was different…this was Macie-Mae's"

I look over and see Macie-Mae picking herself up off the floor. Her nose is dripping blood, she wipes it away. Her opponent is a boy twice her size. It is obvious that he is a "Career tribute" a tribute trained in the Capitol to fight in the games from birth. They almost always win.

As I watch he pushes her and she falls back painfully. I can hear him laughing at her.

Get up.

I think.

Get up and show him.

She does, kicking and punching but soon he has her pinned beneath him. She squirms helplessly. Then I hear him whisper:

"This is how it's going to be in the arena Honey. Just you and me, this is how I'm gonna do it. Slowly…painfully and I'm gonna make your sister watch."

" YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

My eyes are almost as wide as the boy tribute as Macey-Mae slams both her hands, bottom first into his face. He rears back blood pouring from his nose.

Macey-Mae doesn't pause, she sails into him knocking him flat and pummeling him with her little white hands.

"How's it feel?" she shrieks, "How's it feel?" There is now a circle of chanting tributes surrounding them. It is apparent the boy tribute was not well liked. Our mentor comes and rips Macey-Mae off of the other tribute who is sitting up looking shocked. As she catches my eye I smile and give a small thumbs up. The half-smile she gives me lets me know she is as glad as I am.

I cannot sleep in the Capitol. Everything about it is unnatural.

There are no stars, no moon light. Only the glare of artificial lighting.

The sounds of natural life are nonexistent here.

Of course I could have them if I wanted them. You can have anything you want in the Capitol. It won't be real, but it will be yours.

Instead of sleeping I take to wandering the halls of our compound aimlessly searching for something that never existed. I am doing this when I hear the crying.

It wasn't so much crying as the sound of someone trying hard not to be heard crying. Muffled sobs and gasps followed by sounds I've heard kittens make. I move to walk away, but suddenly the door opens and Macie-Mae comes out. Her long hair is loose and her eyes are red and swollen. She is wearing one of the silk robes the Capitol gives us and when she sees me she gathers it around her tighter.

"Haymitch?"

I turn to her slowly. "Hey Macie-Mae."

Her voice is a hiss. "What are you doing here? This is the girl's floor!"

I rub the back of my neck embarrassed. They could have put up a sign, really.

"Is it? Sorry about that. I'll just.."

But I can feel Macey-Mae's eyes on me. Her voice is softer when she speaks.

"Why are you awake?"

"I can't sleep here..Everything's just too…"

"Fake?"

I smile "Nailed it."

I see her bottom lip begin to tremble and I am afraid she is going to start crying again.

"Look," I say, "If it helps at all, I hate them too."

She looks around wide eyed. "Cameras Haymitch." She hisses.

"I don't care. Let them hear. What they did to you and your sister it was…"

Macey-May grabs my shoulders. Her tone is feral, "Shut…up. You can go ahead and get your family killed if you want but leave mine out of it!"

I back off. "Sorry," I say, "I suppose I don't have to worry about it. Mine are already dead."

Macey –Mae blinks, then her face goes blank. "That's too bad Haymitch."

I shrug because I don't know what else to say. Macey-Mae turns to the door, "Good Night, Haymitch."

"Good night Macey-Mae."

A second or two later I call after her. "I wish things were different. I think we could have been friends."

She snorts dismissively "I don't suppose you want an ally?"

Suddenly I am terrified. To care for her, to care for anyone would be a disaster.

"I don't need Allies." I say without looking at her, "I'm fine on my own."

"Oh really?"

"Really. Anyone else will just slow me down…besides it only makes it more difficult in the end."

A little half smile from Macey –Mae. She purses her lips. "I see. Well if you change your mind.."

"I won't."

"Oh really? I bet you change your mind the minute you're in the Arena."

I am getting angry now and she knows it.

"Not going to happen."

"Fine," She sighs turning toward the door way "Have it your own way." But as I am walking away I hear her call my name.

I turn slowly. "Yeah?"

" You had better hope your suit isn't white."

She giggles and the door closes. I shake my head and walk on.


End file.
